The young woman finally got the hint and walked away.

“How long until I get you alone?” he whispered.

“Too long.” She led him over to where Frank and the others waited. John squeezed her hand.

#

THE NEXT MORNING, ANNA woke and rolled over to John’s side, luxuriating in the lingering warmth. As usual, he had gotten up early.

John liked to write in the mornings, no matter where they were—on set, in a small trailer, or in this hotel suite. John had moved the desk to face the window. A breeze rustled the pages that were scattered on the desk. He still had the same laptop. Covered in stickers, it was a hulking ancient thing. “I met you with this laptop,” he had said. “I don’t need a new one yet.”

Anna knew there was power in things if you imbued them with enough energy. The second week of shooting his movie, with an entire professional cast and crew waiting for her on set, he had spent an hour searching for her favorite baseball cap. He had even covered up by slyly hinting they hadn’t been able to get out of bed that morning rather than explaining what had actually happened, which was John rummaging through their suitcases while Anna sat on the edge of the bed, swearing and tangling her hands in her hair.

She pushed herself up to watch him. He wore his pajama pants and headphones. Occasionally, he would stare at the ocean view before turning back to his laptop. She had a few scripts to read to decide her next project, but for now, she had nothing to do but make coffee for her boyfriend. She had learned how to do that much.

Anna got out of bed, slipping on the soft hotel bathrobe, wishing it was John’s arms around her. She padded barefoot on the thick carpet to make coffee in the ridiculously complicated hotel coffee maker, mindlessly reading a script that had been given to her the day before.

John pulled off his headphones when she set down the cup.

“I don’t want to disturb you,” she said.

“You aren’t ever disturbing me.”

The thing was, he actually meant it. He said stuff and meant it. He took the script from her hands, set it on the desk, then pulled her into his lap, kissing her neck.

“You need to finish that,” she murmured into his hair as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’m supposed to take a couple of meetings.”

John pushed her robe off and kissed her shoulder. “It’s early.”

“I need to find a place to live.”

Their lifestyle was an odd one. Neither of them had a home. Her stuff was still in Napa. His boxes were still in Bend. They’d spent the past year on set, shooting his movie, or traveling to film festivals, premieres, and meetings in LA.